


Captain’s Orders

by mautadite



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: “You should know by now that all of my suggestions are just orders wearing a fancy hat,” Isabela says with a wink.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Isabela
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Captain’s Orders

**Author's Note:**

> Pure PWP. This is my 69th f/f fic on this site, so I mean like. I had to. Says so right there in the lesbian agenda fine print.

Hawke is three fingers deep, spreading Isabela’s lips with two fingers of her other hand and licking lazily at her clit, when Isabela murmurs on the tail end of a moan, “Hey, you want to sit on my face?”

A lock of hair falls onto Hawke’s forehead; she shakes it back to look up at Bela. She’s laid out in golden brown glory, looking like a goddess against Hawke’s burgundy sheets with her legs spread and her hair making waves on the pillows. She’d never gotten around to taking off her jewellery, and the gold pieces wink in the torchlight just like the woman they adorn.

Hawke huffs, and kisses Isabela’s thigh.

“I’d love to, but I’m a little bit preoccupied at the moment, Isabela.” A little curl of her fingers to emphasise, and Isabela closes her eyes, arching her hips up in response.

“Mmm… yes, but.” She rolls her hips. “Who says you have to stop one to do the other?”

She thrusts up and down again, eyes lidded and soft. Hawke watches her for a moment, not moving her fingers as Isabela fucks herself on them. There’s very little she enjoys more than the sight of Isabela taking her pleasure freely and unabashedly. Her breasts jump with her movements, and Hawke’s eyes flick to them, unable to resist the way her nipples pebble up. Isabela sees her watching, and rolls her palms across the bead of one dark peak, licking her lips in open invitation.

Hawke chuckles, and pulls her fingers free. She starts stripping out of her robe as she hops off the bed.

“Turn around,” she says. “Head to the foot of the bed.”

Isabela hoists herself up onto her elbows, eyebrow arched.

“What’s this? Contradicting my direct order? If we were on my ship, Serah Hawke, that would earn you five lashes at the very least.”

“It was more of a suggestion than an order,” Hawke points out.

“You should know by now that all of my suggestions are just orders wearing a fancy hat,” Isabela says with a wink.

“And we _aren’t_ on your ship,” Hawke adds. She slides Isabela’s anklets a little further up her shins, and then grasps her by the ankles to yank her down the bed. It isn’t gentle, exactly, but Isabela is grinning, and doesn’t stop when Hawke moves in for a kiss. 

“Semantics,” she says as their mouths meet, and Hawke’s laughter dies in the space created by their joining, the sound suffocated in the kiss.

“Come on,” Hawke murmurs a minute later. “You say you want me to sit on your face, but we both know you can’t last more than two minutes with someone else on top without getting bored.”

Isabela shrugs a shoulder and waves one of her hands in a “guilty as charged, but that’s more your problem than mine” kind of way. Hawke chuckles.

“Let’s try it this way.”

In a few moments, she has Isabela where she wants her. Her head is almost, but not quite, hanging off the foot of the bed, her hair swinging loose. Her legs are drawn up and spread, and one of her hands is already between them, continuing the work that Hawke had started before. The other hand reaches out to grab at Hawke’s hip and pull her forward. Accommodating as ever, Hawke shuffles forward, widening her legs so that there’s a thigh on either side of Isabela’s head. Hawke can immediately feel her breath, warm and laboured, and her heart rate doubles.

“Are you all right like this?” she asks, steadying herself with a hand on Isabela’s flank. Isabela snorts, and nips at Hawke’s thigh.

“I can hold on to the topsail in the middle of a raging squall, Hawke.”

She supposes that’s a yes.

Both her hands trail down Isabela’s sides now, feeling all her dips and curves, the places where she’s soft and pliant. From this position, it takes a bit of contortion to get at her breasts, but Hawke manages it, sucking at the undersides until there’s a litany of little purple bruises on her flesh. Her tongue circles around Isabela’s nipples, flicking back and forth before latching on with her lips to suck. Isabela moans, and her grip on Hawke’s hip moves round to her arse to squeeze.

“Ready?” Hawke whispers, the word catching on Isabela’s skin as she moves down her belly towards the thatch of curls between her legs.

In answer, Isabela nuzzles up to the apex of her legs, coaxing her thighs further apart, and licks a line across her entrance. 

Hawke shudders and bucks, instinctively reaching up onto her tiptoes as pleasure spreads in lightning spirals around her core. Isabela grasps her more firmly, and moves her hand from between her own legs so she can use them both to bring Hawke back down on her tongue. Hawke arches forward with a cry, which conveniently brings her closer to Isabela’s centre. Bela spreads her legs wider in invitation.

The insides of her thighs are already wet from Hawke’s earlier attentions, and the scent of her is delicious; musk and sweat and sweetness. She parts the dark curls to get at her clit, pressing down hard with her tongue. It makes Isabela purr with pleasure, and the exhalation of warm air against her cunt has Hawke groaning again. She laves at Isabela hungrily, anchoring her hands on thick thighs, pressing down until her legs are almost flat against the mattress. The tip of Hawke’s nose is already damp with Isabela’s arousal, and she just wants to get closer still.

But it’s dizzyingly hard to concentrate on her task, with her sensitive nipples grazing Isabela’s stomach, and especially with Isabela’s mouth on her cunt. Sometimes she can feel the cold flick of the stud that Isabela has embedded beneath her lip, skidding across her clit and making her tense up with pleasure. Isabela has two fingers inside her now, flexing and thrusting, and every time Hawke inches away, there’s that strong hand on her hip bringing her back down, right into the centre of sensation. Hawke is trying to work her own fingers into Isabela, struggling because of the slight awkwardness of the angle, when she feels lips wrap around her clit and suck _hard_.

“Sweet Andraste’s _tits_ ,” she cries, arching up. Isabela pulls away for a scant second to give a throaty little laugh.

“Mine are nicer.”

It’s quick, and messy, and hot, and glorious. Hawke fucks Isabela shallowly with three fingers, head laid against one of those strong thighs, occasionally flicking out her tongue to lap at her. Ostensibly, as the one on top, she should have more control, but it feels like Isabela is firmly in charge. When she grips Hawke’s hips and holds her in place, stiffening her tongue, Hawke can’t help but ride it, jerking and seeking out that sweet friction that makes pleasure streak through her like an arcane bolt.

Isabela’s fingers twist, and curl, and Hawke’s climax is like an avalanche of sensation crashing upon her body. She goes stiff with it, up onto her toes, and then trembles with ecstasy and the feel of Isabela’s feather-like, murmuring laughter into the softest, most vulnerable part of her, and all she can do is chant “Maker, Maker, Maker” in a dazed kind of way.

Once she’s the master of her faculties again, Hawke delves between Isabela’s legs properly. There’s the feel of a hitch of breath between her own legs, and Hawke keeps at it, working her over with her lips and tongue, hands cupping that lovely arse, giving it a little smack every so often until she has Isabela groaning out commands. Commands that sound like “please” and “more” and “right there, sweetness”.

Isabela comes like she always does, loudly and beautifully.

Afterwards, they arrange themselves on the bed; legs entangled, arms lazily wandering each other’s bodies. Sweat trickles down the small of Hawke’s back, but she cuddles close to Bela anyway, loving the warmth.

“That,” Isabela announces with a purr, “was not boring at all. Well done, you.”

“I do try,” huffs Hawke, twirling a lock of Isabela’s hair around her finger.

“We should do that more often.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Isabela nods decisively. “Next time, I’ll be on top.”

Hawke grins. “Somehow, I had a feeling that was coming.”

Isabela nuzzles closer to her, kissing her neck. 

“And we’ll have you flat on your back, because who knows if you can handle the vertigo.”

“Kind of you.”

There’s a little nip at her ear, and then Isabela whispers into it. “And I’ll ride you until you want to scream, and I’ll be eating you out at the same time, so you definitely will.”

Hawke raises her brows, colour flooding into her cheeks. Isabela is indulging in one of her favourite activities: making Hawke blush. But she also knows that she’s completely serious. She imagines it, and sweet Maker, it certainly is an arresting image.

“Nice,” she says, and kisses Isabela’s cheek.


End file.
